I have told elsewhere how in those days I was compelled, because of my youth, to confine myself at the Metropolitan to the conducting of such operas as “Le Prophète,” “La Juive,” and “Trovatore.” Seidl, my older colleague, completely monopolized the Wagner operas, which I was of course particularly anxious to conduct. Against “Trovatore” I had at that time a particularly strong and unreasonable aversion, although it was partly justified in that we did not have a cast in our German Opera Company that could do justice to its Italian atmosphere or its vocal demands. Whenever good luck would have it that the Saturday matinée was a Wagner opera, I would ask for and obtain from Director Stanton the permission to leave for Washington on Friday night, as this would enable me to spend Saturday and Sunday with my fiancée. On one of these Fridays, just after I had received my permission, my brother Frank came to me and urged me to take the first train to Washington that I could catch, as he had just heard that the tenor who was to sing in “Siegfried” on Saturday afternoon was ill, and that in all probability the opera would be changed to “Trovatore.” I quickly took the hint, and when the message came that I was to conduct “Trovatore,” I was nowhere to be found and Anton Seidl was compelled to conduct it. He was furious, as he had no greater love for it than I, and my brother told me afterward that he conducted the entire opera with a black scowl on his face, which was bent low over the score and from which he never lifted his eyes once to give a sign to singer or orchestra. During the following winter, tragedies began to overwhelm the Blaine family. Walker, the eldest son, a young man of great talent who had inherited much of his father’s personal charm and who had become a great help to Mr. Blaine in the State Department, died, to be followed shortly after by the oldest daughter, Mrs. Coppinger. These two tragedies, following so closely upon each other, were the first break in that perfect family circle, and this affected Mr. Blaine’s spirit and health to such an extent that I do not think his vitality ever recovered from it. I was married to Margaret Blaine on May 17, 1890. I should like to write much more than a chapter about the thirty-two wonderful years of our married life, but as my wife has sternly forbidden me to even mention her name in these memoirs, this chapter must close with the best left unsaid, though the most deeply felt. X THE DAMROSCH OPERA COMPANY, 1895-1899